The Coming of the Wolves
The howling continued to sound across the village and beyond, and only a moment later, he could hear the growling, snarling, and padding of heavy footfalls getting closer.
And then came the screaming, the unmistakeable cacophony of desperate fighting, animalistic screeches of pain, and suddenly, those who had him pinned down in the alley were no longer focused on him.
Why Riddle would unleash a pack of transformed werewolves when his own followers were here, he didn’t know, but then again, nothing the Dark Lord did would surprise him.
Still, it did beg the question of how they had gotten here so quickly, and whilst they were transformed, unless they’d already been lying in wait, which Tom would’ve known about.
It was something to ponder, just not now. At the moment, though he suspected he would not believe so for long, their arrival was opportune for him. It granted him the ability to take his leave of the alley he was pinned down in.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured as he emerged into the open, snapping his wand upwards and catching a leaping werewolf around the neck with a searing length of chain.
They were everywhere, dozens of them, and already, the streets of Hogsmeade were covered in blood, wounded men and women, and the air full of the most unpleasant of aromas.
Shifting his focus to the task at hand; surviving what was unfolding around him, he cast a plethora of spells and watched as his magic tore through man and beast indiscriminately, just as the pack was.
Evidently, they had no qualms about killing their own allies, and instead of fighting one another, the two factions who’d been so intent on fighting were now doing their utmost to fend off the werewolves.
They were the biggest threat, after all, something Harry was reminded of as another leapt towards him, its maw already dripping with blood.
Ducking beneath it, his curse caught it on the underbelly and the werewolf screeched as it skidded across the cobbles, slamming into the wall of a nearby house.
The gash in its torso was deep enough that he could see its guts threatening to spill out, but it remained undeterred.
Infected with an incessant lust for blood, it pushed itself to its feet and bounded towards him once more, though its steps were laboured, and it offered no defence to Harry’s next offering.
The curse this time took hold with no resistance, and although the fighting continued around him, he did not doubt that everyone from here to Hogwarts heard the screeching as the werewolf’s lower jaw was torn away from the upper.
Still, it was not enough to kill it, and for the first time, Harry truly learned just how tough and resistant to magic werewolves were.
It whimpered pathetically on the ground, but already, others were bearing down on him, preventing him from finishing what he started.
In a bid to ensure he didn’t fall victim to the next attack, he implemented some of the magic he’d learned courtesy of Grindelwald, and his conjured blue fire proved to be as effective against the werewolves as it would any other.
The three who leapt at him next simply vanished into the flames without even the merest sound of pain or surprise, and yet, that still wasn’t enough to deter others from barrelling towards him.
No, if anything they seemed to be only more determined to feast on him, and Harry quickly remembered that he was not in the most advantageous position.
For now, Riddle’s followers were concentrating on saving their own skins, but soon enough, they would remember that he was among them, and the last thing he needed was to be defending himself from the werewolves and Death Eaters determined to take him to Voldemort in an even worse position.
After all, it would only take an errant spell to render him unable to defend himself, and Harry had no intention of making it so easy for the Dark Lord. No, he needed to reach Dawlish and the others, to mount a defence of the village, and rid it of the werewolves and Death Eaters before any more harm was done.
(Break)
It was the distant howling that had first caught her attention, and when she peered out of the window of her office, she saw the signs of spellfire. Only a moment later, the entire castle had been locked down, preventing any from entering or exiting.
For some time, she tried to make sense of what was happening in Hogsmeade, but from here, she could see little except for the flashing lights of the magic and hear the distant sounds of conflict.
“Any idea what is going on out there? All the common rooms have been sealed.”
David Jones.
It had not taken Nymphadora long to notice the change on the map and the absence of Amycus Carrow. Harry had not waited around to get rid of the man, much to her relief.
That relief was all but gone now as she continued to try to ascertain what was happening just a short distance away.
“Werewolves,” she murmured. “I heard werewolves.”
“That’s just great,” Jones sighed as he took a spot next to her. “I’d bet Potter is out there.”
“That’s a stupid bet to go against.”
Of course Harry would be there.
He always found a way to be in the thick of just about everything that happened up and down Britain. What she couldn’t understand, however, was why he’d not warned her, unless he simply had not known about what would be happening tonight.
Even so, he seemed to have managed to gather quite the defence to face the werewolves if the amount of spellfire she could see was anything to go by.
Not that she could do anything to help him.
No, all Nymphadora could do was wait and see what news would trickle its way into the castle. It would be a nervous wait at best, and she’d never been particularly good at sitting idly by when she could be of use.
It was one of the reasons she’d become an auror, but for now, she was little more than a spectator to what was transpiring in the outside world.
Still, she knew what she was doing was just as important.
Who else would keep the students of the castle safe from the dangers within?
(Break)
“Nice one, Fred,” George exclaimed, firing a ball of fire into the face of another werewolf that was taking a little too much interest in him.
Ron remembered his brief but terrifying encounter with the transformed Lupin at the end of his third year, the pained screaming of the man as he had become just one of the many monsters he found himself surrounded by.
Of course, he was scared, but this time, his leg wasn’t broken, and he was much more capable of defending himself.
He followed suit, blasting a passing werewolf with a gout of fire, grimacing at the smell of scorched hair and flesh as it filled his nose. Not that he felt any guilt for what he’d done.
No, he was under no illusion that any one of these creatures would rip him limb from limb if given half the chance.
“Use the swamps, Ron!”
With a nod, he activated half a dozen of his brother’s inventions, surrounding them with portable swamps that even the keenest of werewolves would struggle to navigate.
Even so, that did not prevent those that spotted them from attempting to reach where they stood back-to-back, and one of the twins laughed as they quickly became stuck in the mire, where they unceremoniously silenced with a violent flurry of spells courtesy of the trio.
No, Ronald Weasley felt no guilt for what he was doing, just as none were shouldering the burden of guilt for murdering his mother, brother, and sister in cold blood.
“RON!”
He’d neither seen nor heard the werewolf bounding towards him, but he did smell the putrid breath of the creature as it snapped at him, and felt its lips brush the side of his neck.
Much to his relief, he’d managed to avoid the bite, though he collapsed to the ground with a burning pain ripping across his torso. Instinctively, he placed his hand where it hurt, only to feel an unpleasant warmth passing through his fingers.
“Shit,” he cursed.
He was bleeding profusely from the wound, and everything around him became muffled whilst he found himself lost in his moment of agony. For how long he laid there watching his own blood pool around him, he didn’t know, but he screamed as his brothers tried to pull him to his feet.
“Bugger,” one of the twins whispered worriedly. “Fred, we need to get him to St Mungo’s.”
Already, Ron’s vision was swimming, and more concerning, he could no longer feel the pain that he’d been wracked with. What he did know, however, was that the sounds of screams, snarling, and spellfire were gone, and a moment later he was in a stark, white room where more muffled voices could be heard around him.
Not that he could hear much, but before he lost consciousness, he heard a final, ominous offering.
“We must be quick or he will not make it.”
(Break)
What had happened, John was not certain.
In one moment, he and his fellow aurors had engaged those that had replaced them in the Ministry of Magic, and in the next, they were doing their utmost to fend off an enormous pack of ravenous werewolves.
Fortunately, they had been on the far side of the village when they’d arrive and had been able to come together well enough to keep them at bay. Even so, the pack was determined, and the influx of creatures seemed to be never ending.
“We can’t stay here!” Burton, one of his team declared breathlessly. “We’re going to be torn to shreds.”
“Potter is still out there,” Dawlish pointed out, nodding towards the village where he could see the fighting continuing.
Harry Potter was an excellent wizard, but how he had managed to fight on under such circumstances, John did not know. Collectively, as a group, he and the others had been struggling at best, and there was no doubt in his mind that at least a few of them had found themselves on the wrong side of the vicious beasts still bearing down on them.
Potter was in the village alone, and evidently, handling himself most admirably if the howls of agony were anything to go by. Not only was he faced with the werewolves, but also Voldemort’s followers who were out there, equally fighting for their lives.
What the hell was the Dark Lord playing at by allowing the werewolves to attack when his men had been here?
No, not even Voldemort was so mad, which meant that something had gone awry this evening. Still, that did not explain why he’d had so many of his men stationed here.
John frowned as he pondered it, firing a concussion curse towards another determined werewolf hurtling towards the position he and his own men had taken up.
No, this could not have been what the man had intended at all.
If anything, it appeared that he already had a plan in place, and Harry’s arrival had been unexpected, akin to putting the kneazles among the pigeons, so to speak.
Still, the young man was out there, stuck in the very middle of what had come of Voldemort’s plotting, and it was a most unenvious and unfortunate position to find himself.
“Bloody hell, look at that!” Burton scoffed, pointing towards another figure charging towards them.
This, however, was no werewolf, well, not leading whatever was coming towards them. No, it was Harry Potter sitting atop an enormous thestral, brandishing a whip from the tip of his wand that he was lashing against what it was pursuing him.
It made for quite the sight indeed but now was not the time to be in awe at the antics of the young man, and John readied his own wand, commanding his men to follow suit.
“The second he is out of harm’s way, fire,” he instructed.
He continued to watch as the werewolves gave chase, their claws and teeth often coming uncomfortably close to Potter, who did not balk under the pressure as he evaded each blow, eliciting more agonised screeches from those pursuing him.
“NOW!” John roared when he eventually guided his mount out of the line of fire.
The werewolves stood no chance.
They’d been so determined to sink their teeth into Potter that they’d paid no heed to anything else around them, and the blinding barrage of spells slammed into them, the combination rendering them either dead or in no fit state to continue the chase.
Upon realising what had happened, Potter offered them a nod as he approached.
“Thanks, John,” he said sincerely.
John was lost for words, not just because Potter seemed to be unharmed, but for the fact that he was still sitting astride the enormous thestral, whose eyes seemed to match those of the rider.
“Don’t mention it,” he managed to murmur. “What do we do about that?”
Potter looked back towards the village where the werewolves and the Dark Lord’s men were still fighting, and he shrugged.
“The civilians fled the moment the fighting started, and the werewolves didn’t come until a while after. As far as I’m concerned, it’s Voldemort’s problem now.”
John nodded his agreement.
“I knew I liked you, Potter. Come on, let’s get out of here,” he instructed, activating his portkey and breathing a sigh of relief as he and the others were returned to the farm they’d made their home.
Of course, their departure did not mean the night was through by any stretch. Among his numbers, some were wounded, and they’d need to be tended to, and then came the dreaded count.
He would need to personally verify how many they had lost in the fighting, exactly who had perished, and then inform their loved ones of the most unwelcome news.
No, his position was not an enviable one, but John would do his duty, just as he always had to the Ministry of Magic when it had been something he’d been proud to serve, no matter what Voldemort through at them.
(Break)
“Dad, you need to get to St Mungo’s, Ron is hurt!”
It was as though every bit of dread he’d experienced these past months had returned all at once as he’d frantically readied himself, not knowing what it was he would be walking into.
Much of his day-to-day life had become little more than a blur. Without his job to keep him busy, he’d thrown himself into his hobby of working out how the many muggle things he’d collected over the years.
He knew that Molly wouldn’t like how much time he was spending in the shed, but even when she’d been around, she’d never chided him for his curiosity, except for the time three of his sons had taken his charmed car to rescue Harry from his relatives.
The memory brought a smile to his lips.
She’d not truly been angry and had even seen the funny side of it when she knew Ron, Fred, and George would not be getting in trouble.
Still, it had taken quite the explanation from Arthur to the Magical Catastrophes Department, but they’d bought that he was merely storing the car that he’d confiscated during a raid.
Well, they said they believed him, but Arthur suspected they simply could not deal with the headache of looking into the matter further, or they just didn’t care.
Still, such thoughts were far from his mind as he continued pacing back and forth in the waiting area of St Mungo’s with his unusually silent twins all but catatonic.
Arthur was furious with all three of them, but for now, his anger would wait. Taking precedence was a cold dread that he might just lose another child, that there would be another of his blood he would be forced to bury.
“Mr Weasley?”
He’d not heard the door open, but when he turned around, Fred and George were already standing, and both relaxed as the Healer offered them something of an encouraging smile.
“Ronald is stable, but he is still in a bad way. He has lost a lot of blood, and his wounds will take some time to heal. I cannot promise they will heal completely, given the nature of them.”
“Is he…?”
Arthur could not bring himself to finish the question, and it appeared that the Healer did not have a definitive answer for him.
“We will not know until the next full moon, Mr Weasley. I do not want to give you false hope, but with the amount of blood he lost that we needed to replace, it is possible the lycanthropy did not take hold.”
Arthur swallowed deeply as he nodded his understanding.
At the very least, Ron was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered.
“Can we see him?” one of the twins asked.
“I will see what I can do,” the Healer replied before leaving the room.
Arthur sagged into a nearby chair, breathing a sigh of relief.
“We’re sorry, Dad, we…”
Arthur held up a hand to silence his son.
“Ron is alive,” he murmured. “Everything else can wait.”
Truthfully, he knew he only had himself to blame.
It had been him to teach his children to be courageous, to do what they believed was the right thing, and to stand against the evils of the world.
Look where that had gotten him.
Already, Arthur had become disillusioned with such things. Any fight he’d had left had been drained away by the death of Molly, Bill, and Ginny, and all he’d wanted in life since was to keep the rest of his family safe.
He should’ve known better.
Ron would not allow Harry to fight the war without him, and neither would the twins for that matter. No, where Arthur’s desire to see Voldemort dead had depleted, it seemed that his children only wanted it all the more.
“Mr Weasley, you can see him now,” the Healer announced as she returned.
“Come on, boys,” Arthur sighed tiredly, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. “Let’s make sure he’s alright.”
(Break)
He listened as Scabior and Yaxley reeled off their report, and he barely kept his temper in check as they did so. When he’d learned that Potter had unexpectedly arrived in Hogsmeade, he did not doubt there would be casualties, but to lose almost thirty in a single night, and at least a few dozen others being turned into werewolves was unacceptable.
Still, although it was infuriating, there was something that could be salvaged from what had become quite the disaster.
He nodded as he read the headline of The Daily Prophet that had been hurriedly printed in the wake of what had happened. It would serve to add credence to the image of Potter he wished to project, make his own followers appear to be the heroes the country could look to, and garner sympathy for those falling in the act of defending the village from the werewolves.
At the very least, something worthwhile had been salvaged from what had otherwise been a most frustrating occurrence.
Potter Unleashes Werewolves on Hogsmeade!
There would be those so devoted to the damned boy that they’d never believe the claim, but most would, and all any would need to do was speak with the villagers themselves to learn what they saw, which was the Dark Lord’s men embroiled in quite the battle with the creatures.
For now, Greyback was keeping his distance, but he did not doubt the man would arrive soon enough demanding answers he would not get. If anything, despite what had happened, Greyback could be assuaged by Potter’s presence, and would not believe for one moment the Dark Lord had even been conducting his own operation.
As far as Greyback would need to know, his men were responding to a sighting of Potter, and what had followed had been little more than a most unfortunate accident.
So, in all, despite the losses, he could deem the events of the previous evening a resounding success.
Greyback had added a few more members to the pack, which had finally been fed, and the Dark Lord gone quite the considerable distance in bringing the public firmly on his side.
Well, the majority, at least.
(Break)
“Fortunately for you, Mr Potter, all of your wounds are superficial,” Tullius informed him. “Just some cuts and bruises which are already healing rather remarkably. Once again, your magic proves to be truly exceptional. May I?”
He was holding up the odd device he’d used on numerous occasions now throughout his examinations, and Harry nodded, gripping it tightly.
For several moments, Tullius said nothing as he took some notes before nodding thoughtfully.
“Well, as ever, you have me at quite the loss to explain my findings, but your magic has settled. I am still unable to identify exactly what it is. I have never seen anything like it, but so long as it serves you well enough, that is all that matters, and I am sure we can conclude that it does. What you have done these past couple of years since I’ve known you is nothing short of remarkable. You are something of an anomaly, Harry, and that is my professional conclusion.”
He chuckled dryly in response.
“Thank you, Tullius.”
He’d not even wished to send for the man, but upon seeing him covered in blood, Kreacher had taken it upon himself to do. Most of it had not been his, and Harry wasn’t even certain where it had come from.
The entire thing had gone by in something of a blur, and now, he was back in Grimmauld Place, no worse for wear, but exhausted.
Nonetheless, his morning had not even begun yet.
He needed to take advantage of the opportunity presented to him. Although he would’ve liked more time to observe Runcorn, he was as ready as he would likely be to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, which would undoubtedly be in disarray after what had happened in Hogsmeade.
Yes, with the entire country undoubtedly distracted by the first werewolf attack in more than a decade and a half, the time could not be better for him to enact the other part of the plan he’d concocted.
“Harry! What happened?”
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
“Werewolves in Hogsmeade,” he replied. “I’m fine, it was just unexpected.”
Hermione frowned at him and began inspecting the various wounds littering his body.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, erm, I was already there when they attacked,” Harry answered sheepishly.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him.
“And what were you doing there?”
“Making sure I was seen.”
She shook her head in response.
“I didn’t even need to ask, did I? Of course that’s what you were doing. Knowing that you’re the most wanted man in the country would only make you do it more. It’s bad enough that trouble seems to find you, Harry, but you go looking for it just as much. You’ve always been like that.”
“Maybe there’s a part of me that enjoys it.”
“That is the only logical explanation,” Hermione grumbled. “I would’ve thought you’d be tired of it by now.”
“Believe me, I am. I just can’t get away from it. If it isn’t Riddle and his lot, its bloody Grindelwald and Dumbledore waiting for me.”
“And then what?”
Harry shook his head.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if that isn’t everything. Life has a way of fucking with me.”
She shot him a wry smile as he summoned some fresh clothes.
Before he did anything else, he needed to shower to remove the remnants of the blood, and to soothe his aching muscles, but there was no time for rest, not when the time was right to implement the second part of his plan.
“We’re going into the ministry today, Hermione,” he declared. “After what happened last night, they will be too busy to deal with anything else. Besides, they won’t expect it, not to soon.”
She frowned but offered no argument to his logic.
“Today,” she agreed, turning sharply towards the fireplace as it flared into life.
“Harry, are you in there?”
“Fred, what’s going on?”
“It’s Ron, Harry. He was wounded by one of the werewolves.”
“Bloody hell, I thought you would’ve gotten out of there when they turned up.”
“Well, we didn’t,” Fred said tiredly. “He wasn’t bitten, but he got a nasty scratch.”
“So, he isn’t…?”
“We don’t know. The Healer thinks there’s a chance that he isn’t with how much blood he has lost, but we have to wait and see.”
“Alright, we will be there…?”
“No, you can’t show your face here. Haven’t you seen the paper?”
“No.”
“Well, apparently, they’re blaming you for releasing the werewolves in Hogsmeade. They’re saying your connection to Remus allowed you to get them on your side.”
“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!” Hermione huffed.
“You mean like when Harry managed to get past Dumbledore’s age line to enter himself into the tournament?” Fred replied. “Come on, Hermione, you must realise how stupid most people are. They’ll believe anything they read in The Prophet. Anyway, we’ll let you know whenever there is news. Ron still hasn’t woken up yet, so, just keep your head down.”
There was no grin of mischief, only a solemn nod before he vanished, and Harry deflated, shaking his head.
“Bloody hell,” he repeated irritably.
He was frustrated with himself for not having considered that Ron and the twins would’ve remained behind despite their planning quickly falling into ruin.
They had been there to him capture some of Riddle’s men, as many as they could, along with the aurors, not attempt to fend off Greyback’s entire pack.
“You should go to St Mungo’s,” he urged.
Hermione shook her head.
“I’m wanted too, Harry,” she reminded him. “We don’t know if he’s managed to take it over.”
The thought did little to calm him, especially knowing that Ron, Fred, George, and undoubtedly Arthur were in there. No, Harry did not like it, and though he did not doubt that the Weasley patriarch and his sons could handle themselves well enough, Ron was vulnerable, and that was something he could not abide.
“We can’t leave him in there,” he murmured. “I want you to take the cloak and get them out. I’ll arrange for my own healer to look after Ron.”
“Do you think Voldemort is in control of St Mungo’s?” Hermione asked worriedly, evidently not having considered it until this moment.
Harry hadn’t either, and whether or not he was, it was a risk he was unwilling to take.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but he would be stupid not to have someone watching the place. Look what happened to Bode during our fifth year.”
Hermione worried her lower lip before nodding.
“I’ll get them out, Harry,” she assured him, and he handed her the cloak he always kept on himself. “I’ll go now.”
“Send for me if you need me.”
“I will,” she promised.
Harry released a deep breath as he drew his wand.
“Watch over her,” he pleaded. “Come Death, come.”
(Break)
“It was definitely Potter. We all know what he looks like, and there are a dozen others who were in the pub who saw the same thing. Potter was attacking the aurors who were trying to fight off the werewolves.”
He chuckled amusedly as he listened to yet another account of what had happened in Hogsmeade. Although it had not been his plan initially to implicate Potter in the activities of the werewolf, the boy had only made it too easy for him to do so.
“Good news, isn’t it?” he asked the arriving Yaxley cheerily.
“It is, my lord, and I believe I have more for you. I have it on very good authority that Arthur Weasley arrived at St Mungo’s late last night, and it has been confirmed that his son Ronald is being treated for a wound sustained by a werewolf.”
“Ronald Weasley,” the Dark Lord mused aloud.
“He is on the list of those that did not surrender themselves to be registered, and he did not arrive at Hogwarts for the new school year.”
“So, placing a guard within the hospital to ensure he cannot escape custody…”
“Is well within our capabilities and rights. Arthur Weasley should be arrested too, my lord, and any other member of the family we can round up.”
“Then it appears our day may just be getting better and better. Potter will not like his best friend being arrested. Do it, Yaxley, and I want him brought before me the moment he is capable of talking. If there is anyone who can tell us what Potter is up to, it is Ronald Weasley.”
“I have already seen to it, my lord. He will not be going anywhere.”
He leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a moment to simply revel in the success of the past day.
When he’d concocted what should’ve been a simple plan to give Greyback what he wanted whilst garnering the support of the public, he could not have envisioned the seeds sown bearing such fruit.
Ronald Weasley.
Soon enough, it seemed, he would have one of the people Potter cared about most at his mercy, and even if he could get nothing from him, at the very least, he had leverage over his foes.
(Break)
He waited until Runcorn finished his brief conversation, and ensured no other was nearby before creating a disturbance in the alleyway opposite the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.
With a flick of his wand, the lids of the bins began to rattle, and a girlish scream sounded, though Harry ensured only Runcorn could hear it.
Immediately, the man looked towards where he was standing with a deep frown marring his features with his wand in hand.
Evidently, he did not feel he needed any assistance, and he crossed the street, only to collapse face first to the pavement as he entered the alley, his nose shattering from the impact.
“Git,” Harry muttered, bounding the man quickly and helping himself to some of his hairs before casting a disillusionment charm on Albert Runcorn, already dreading drinking the Polyjuice potion containing any part of him.
The smell of stale smoke on Runcorn’s leather jacket was nauseating, and his build was not one Harry was used to carrying around, but he proceeded with his plan, nonetheless.
Fortunately, the golden elevator was well enough labelled that he’d managed to get to the Department of Magical law Enforcement without much trouble, and as expected, the place was a flurry of activity.
Everywhere he looked, his own image stared back at him from the posters covering just about every inch of wall, with only a few others to be seen among them.
He merely offered a nod to any he passed, not wanting to draw any undue attention to himself, though there was one conversation he caught a snippet of that got his attention.
“She’ll be out doing the trials all morning,” one man said to another.
“She was in a good mood then?”
“Aye, she makes me feel sick. I don’t know what anyone is thinking putting Umbridge in charge of anything. Wasn’t she one of Fudge’s lackeys?”
The words ‘trial’ and ‘Umbridge’ in the same sentence did not sit right with Harry, and he continued on his way, finding Runcorn’s office at the very end of the communal office shared by those posing as aurors.
Trials.
As a member of the Wizengamot, he should be informed of any pending trials, but he’d received nothing from the ministry in any form. Not that he expected to, but it wasn’t as though these so-called trials were being made known to the public.
It was troubling to say the least, and something he would need to look into.
If the Wizengamot was not holding them, then who else other than Umbridge was?
It was a most unsettling thought, and one he would not be rid of until he got to the truth of the matter.
Still, for now, he needed to focus on the opportunity he’d created for himself, and tapping the lock with Runcorn’s wand, he entered the man’s office.
It wasn’t as though he expected the man to have an effigy of Riddle that he bowed to in the corner of the room, but he hadn’t anticipated Runcorn being so dull and efficient. Still, it made Harry’s job of finding anything worth knowing just that much easier.
There was a large filing cabinet in the corner, but it was the desk he started with given that there was a myriad of charms on each of the drawers preventing anyone from snooping in them.
Not that they stood a chance against the elder wand.
With just a few twists and turns, the magic gave way, and Harry opened the top drawer, frowning at the stack of official documents, each stamped with the words ‘In Custody’.
Arrest records, but these were not records of just anyone.
No, Harry recognised the last names of each person listed; Boot, Macmillan, Davies…
He felt a lump form in his throat at the next, and his grip tightened around the wand he still held.
“Luna,” he whispered.
It was dated several weeks prior, and yet, he knew for certain that she’d not been in Azkaban with the others. No, he would undoubtedly have noticed her, which meant that she had been taken somewhere else, but where?
That was the pertinent question, and one he intended to have answered immediately.
Runcorn.
Although he’d only planned to wipe the man’s memories of what had happened to him, that had changed.
Would Runcorn be able to tell him what had happened to Luna?
Harry didn’t know, but given he had nothing else to go on, Runcorn would be his first port of call.
Still, it wasn’t as though the man’s absence wouldn’t be noticed, and when it was, suspicions would be aroused rendering his efforts here worthless, unless he could salvage something else from this venture.
It wasn’t as though Runcorn was going anywhere, and neither was Luna, not until he found a way of rescuing her from wherever she was being held.
“Umbridge,” he murmured to himself.
If she was holding trials, then there was every chance Luna passed through her hands, and after all that happened during his fifth year at Hogwarts, there was nothing the woman would like more than to get back at him.
“Umbridge,” he repeated, taking a deep breath to keep his temper in check.
(Break)
“Excuse me, I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mr Weasley, but would you mind coming to sign some documents?” the Healer asked apologetically.
Artur nodded as he released’ Ron’s hand.
His son had yet to wake, or even stir since he’d been brought in, but the Healers assured him he was doing well and was responding to their treatment.
Already, he’d been fed a cocktail of potions, and every hour or so, one would arrive to take some blood to check for any signs that he’d been infected.
At the very least, he was stable, and for that, Arthur was grateful.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he was led into an office, where two men were waiting for him.
The Healer offered him a look of apology to match the words she’d spoken to him upon her intrusion, and the two men garbed in dark robes stepped forward.
“Arthur Weasley, you are under arrest…”
The words died in his throat as he was slammed into the wall, and before his companion could comprehend what was happening, he too was rendered unconscious.
“Hermione!” Arthur gasped as the young woman revealed herself from within the folds of an invisibility cloak.
“Ron isn’t safe here, Mr Wesley,” she said frantically.
“He isn’t,” the Healer agreed. “You-Know-Who, he has people here!”
“Bloody hell,” Arthur cursed as he drew his wand.
“Harry has arranged for his own Healer to look after Ron,” Hermione explained, “but we have to get him out of here now!”
Arthur nodded and gestured for the young woman to follow him.
Only a moment later they were back at Ron’s room, only for an alarm to begin blaring throughout the building.
“Well, that’s not good,” Arthur sighed.
“What is going on?” George asked.
“Voldemort knows Ron is here,” Hermione answered. “We need to get him somewhere safe.”
The twins eyed one another, seemingly having a conversation between themselves just as an announcement sounded from the speaker in the corner of the room.
“St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is now in lockdown. Patients and visitors are asked to remain in their rooms until further notice.”
The message repeated itself, and Arthur looked towards his unconscious son.
None would get to him whilst he was able to draw breath, and he was left in no doubt that they would soon try.
“Get him out of here,” Fred urged. “We will do what we can to keep them away.”
They both drew their wands and hurried from the room, leaving Arthur with his ailing son and the unexpectedly arrived Hermione Granger to somehow find a way out of St Mungo’s before it was too late.